


The Grave

by mitternacht



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitternacht/pseuds/mitternacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>/something for two./<br/>In which, Richard deals with death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frankieteardrop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frankieteardrop/gifts).



**I.**

                They always said, that if Richard died first, Till would live a year before perishing.

                And if Till died first, that Richard would probably live the rest of his natural life in relative peace of mind.

                He died in a very _Till_ manner, according to Richard. Hardly any signs preceded his death, or even suggested that his health was very rapidly declining. Or perhaps it didn't decline as rapidly as it seemed, it was just that Richard never knew about any of Till's health issues. Silly to think that Richard wouldn't know such things but in their age, they had learned to let certain habits lie. One of those being Till's insistence on privacy. Of course, he hadn't known about Till's other health issues until he found paperwork stowed away in his bureau months after the funeral. His children pleaded with him to let them help clean out their home but Richard had flat out refused.

                After dropping something that rolled underneath Till's dresser, he decided to finally try to sort through some of Till's old things. He hadn't realized how much he had been avoiding moving Till's belongings until he ran a finger through the thick layer of accumulated dust along the edge. After wiping off the dresser and gathering loose change off the top, he opened the first drawer. He could have sworn that Till's scent was faint in the air around him, rising from the clothes neatly tucked away. He felt a pang of nostalgia at that, breathing it in for a moment before it finally faded away. His chest was tight with anxiety as he finally reached a hand into the drawer. A watch gifted from Richard, spare cuff links that he never wore, and various pens rolled around as he sifted through it. He lifted up the small stack of papers and leafed through them. Most of them were scraps of Till's writing, various appointment cards, and a few photographs here and there. He saw his own face among the pictures but quickly moved them aside. A muted buzzing rang in his ears as he reached for a folded sheet of paper.

                It was not unlike the ones he received from the doctor, each one usually listed the tests done as part of their usual checkup and next appointment. The buzzing grew louder as he unfolded the paper, out of curiosity. He would have to call and cancel the appointment, he noted with a twinge of sorrow.

 **Patient:** _Lindemann, Till._ **B** **:** _04/01/1963._

 **Diagnosis:** _Has stopped taking medications_ _._ _Symptoms are present for lung and stomach cancer. Declined to see specialist for follow-up appointment._

                He scanned the rest of the paper without reading it, the words blurring before his eyes. The paper fell from trembling hands as the buzzing grew louder, barely making a sound as it hit the ground. This paper was from over a year ago and he never made another appointment. Tears pricked hot spikes beneath his lids as he realized what happened. Till had known for over a year that he was dying and said nothing to Richard. _Over a year._

                If he had known, then he could have--

                The tears fell.

                Till didn't want him to know. He didn't want Richard's help in preventing and treating his illness. And that hurt immensely.

                "Bastard," Richard whispered. He cursed Till for knowing him so well; he knew Richard's first instinct would be to get him the best care possible. He would have seen it out that Till was taken care of until his own last breath but Till didn't want...

\--

        **II.**         

                Now sometimes, cancer is a hideous disease. Sapping one of their strength, riddling the body as deterioration slowly sets in. Treatments are equally as grueling, radiation is no picnic. Surely, radiation feels worse than the actual illness at times; leaving behind patches of burnt skin and the inevitable hair loss that comes along with chemotherapy. It can be a very ugly process, eating one from the inside out until it claims them entirely. It can be a truly arduous process to remission.

                And other times, its silent and fast. One day, a mild illness, and by the end of the week, total shutdown. A steady decline where those involved can only look on helplessly until the end.

                It took exactly six and a half days for Till to die.

                That sounds a little blunt, doesn't it?

                Rephrase that. Richard stayed by Till's side; watched doctors prod and poke at Till, running various tests and x-rays, waited for results and news from nurses, barely slept more than two hours a day, all to do his best to stay strong for Till's sake, for six and a half grueling days, only leaving for cigarettes and showers.

                Till started off relatively normal, a persistent cough had left him with shortness of breath. He let Richard take him to the hospital after insisting that his cough sounded unusually ill. Not long after, the doctors told the two of them that Till's lungs were filling with fluid. Something easily fixed once they found the cause, rest assured. Till rested for a few hours, occasionally waking up for tests. Richard wandered around the cafeteria trying to shake off the jitters that came with being in a hospital for too long. Richard hoped he would be able to take Till home by the end of the night, if not, the next day. He despised hospitals like most do, due to the ever present feeling of dread and sorrow. The thick scent of cleaning products and medical supplies was stifling and the sterile interiors drove him mad. 

                He just wanted to take Till _home_.

                He returned to Till's room, finding him resting peacefully. He set off in search of a doctor in the hopes of finding positive results, but was faced with only grim news. The fluid was filling his lungs too quickly and a major operation would be required.

                "Given his age, we typically don't recommend something this drastic," the doctor told him. "His situation is precarious and ..."

                Richard completely blanked out after that, watching the doctor's lips move as the buzzing set in again. Fear set in.

                He returned to Till's side, almost mechanically sitting down beside his lover as he waited for him to wake up. Hours passed before Till even stirred, seemingly in a dead sleep. Once Till awoke, he gestured for Richard to come closer. Richard spoke frantically; half in German, half in English, asking about the tests and what to do next.

                Till smiled a soft sort of sad smile, a silent apology in his eyes. He held his finger up, quieting the other man and beckoning him closer. Once Richard leaned in, he pressed a kiss to his hair and sighed.

                Richard fell silent after that, tears welling up again. "Till please," he whispered. "Don't leave me, Till. I love you."

                Till said nothing, and Richard knew that he probably couldn't at this point. It would be too much of a struggle for him to speak.

                He couldn't stop the tears from falling then.

                The next two days were spent trying to figure out the next steps. Till opted out of the surgery, against Richard's wishes, but it was his decision to make. Richard felt hollow inside; he couldn't help as Till's health declined. He couldn't stop it, he couldn't fix it, and for the first time in a long time, he felt totally helpless. Till hardly ate and hardly spoke, barely moving due to the pain he was experiencing and difficulty breathing. Shortly after, Till made the decision to enter hospice care, refusing any further treatment and tests. He had to watch Till _die_.

                His best friend, his lover, his partner, his _everything_ was going to leave him and he could do nothing about it. He was surrounded by a mix of his own and Till's friends and family during those last few days but he felt incredibly alone. He could see Till slipping away little by little. He looked so frail and small lying in the hospital bed. His skin was pale and cool to the touch, almost as if his body had already given up. Till was a husk of his former self and it was depressing.

                Richard wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to fix Till, he wanted to be dead himself, he was exhausted from feeling so many things at once. He had never really thought about either one of them dying and now reality was staring him in the face. Once he was moved to hospice, Richard accepted Till's fate. He moved throughout those last four days on autopilot, not wanting to leave Till but knowing that his time was coming to an end. His heart broke little by little each day, until he received the phone call.

                Till passed away in the early hours of the morning.

                He found himself barely able to function.

 --

**III.**

                Richard put on a brave face for the funeral. He was in rough shape but no one dared to comment on it. He went about his usual routines ... just without Till. He was a mess, barely registering when people spoke to him, not really focusing on anything he was doing, and letting his own health become less of a priority. He kicked up his usual cigarette intake to two packs a day, hoping that the cigarettes would take him as well. He wasn't that lucky. This ritual continued for about two weeks before Richard seemingly snapped out of it.

                No one faulted him for mourning Till. How could they, Richard and Till had been side by side for the past forty-something years. When it came time to settle the estate, Richard sorted it out fairly quickly according to Till's instructions. Suprisingly, the paperwork had no real impact on his feelings. In fact, hardly anything had an effect on Richard anymore unless it pertained to Till. Whenever he found himself overcome with emotion, he chose to shut down and ignore those feelings. Death was an inevitable part of life and although he didn't expect Till to go so  _soon_ , he came to accept it. 

\--

        **IV.**

                 Or so he thought.  

                 It was an oddly numbing sense of loss at first, leaving him feeling hollow and empty. Once that phase of mourning was over, he found himself furious at Till. He hadn't told anyone of Till's 'secret', which was meant to be taken to the grave. He was partly angry with himself, kicking himself mentally for not picking up on his partner's sickness. How could he have missed something like that?

                 Till was someone he loved very dearly, someone he really  _wanted_ to be with. Although he had never admitted it aloud, he felt truly comfortable with Till. He attributed it to the fact that he was one of the few people he _chose_ to keep close. He never imagined that Till would reciprocate those feelings at least threefold. He couldn't have chosen any better if he tried. Whenever Richard thought about it too much; his eyes would glass over and he would get choked up, resigning those feelings to the back of his mind.

                 Their bond was practically unbreakable but Till still chose to keep his sickness from him. That thought haunted Richard's thoughts and troubled him often, keeping him awake for many nights on end. Instead of confronting those issues, he withdrew to the darker parts of his own mind. Self doubt set in, his insecurities grew, and anxiety wore down his nerves constantly. He was a walking time bomb but he managed to hide it from others. _If Till can do it, so can I_ he told himself.

                  And he did well enough for the first year. To the relief of those around him, he made it just like they thought he would. Richard was much too energetic to give up on living according to them. He did fine until his son suggested he visit Till's gravesite. He immediately shot down the idea, unwilling to consider it. That topic was never mentioned aloud to Richard again. Not being ready was the tight-lipped explanation offered.

\--

        **V.**

Part of him never wanted to see the gravesite because then he wouldn't have go truly acknowledge Till's death. He could pretend (and sometimes did) that Till's funeral never happened although Till's absence was hard to ignore. Music had started to lose its appeal, what made it beautiful for him was gone. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still hear Till's voice calling to him, singing softly under his breath. That was the only music that concerned him at that point. It no longer worried Richard if that voice was real or a figment of his own imagination. If it was real, then he could pretend that Till had found a way to be with him, even in death. Morbid yet comforting.

                 He told himself he wouldn't go to the grave until he was buried there. He couldn't bring himself to face Till, or more accurately, the slab of stone that marked where Till was. The cemetery was far away in the countryside and definitely not in the direction Richard frequented. He reasoned with himself for months on end, managing to convince himself that he didn't have to go. If Till didn't need to tell him he was dying, then Richard didn't need to go see him now.

                 This cycle went on for a while until finally, he decided against his better judgement to venture there. He had to go at least one time, if only to satisfy a sense of duty.

                 He drove in silence, letting his thoughts run rampant. He fought with himself, nearly turning around and going home several times. He had no idea how he was going to feel once he got there, nerves building as he stopped in a florist shop nearby. He purchased a single red rose, sniffing at it thoughtfully. It was a fairly nice flower in full bloom, which meant it wouldn't last much longer he noted wistfully.

                 Upon reaching the front gates of the cemetery, he felt a familiar numbness creep into his thoughts. He drove without seeing, weaving his way through the maze of intersecting roads, to the area where Till was laid to rest. Turning off the car, he reached for the flower and got out. He stood outside the car for a moment, looking down the row of tombstones. He lit a cigarette, taking a few puffs to calm his nerves. Anticipation and dread were heavy on his heart as he trudged across the road to the field before him.

                  A few ornate memorials caught his eye, some as big as himself. Colorful bouquets adorned the dull grays and whites of the marble slabs, pinpricks of vibrancy in a field of death. His pace slowed as he drew closer to Till before stopping a few feet away. He turned around and took a step back toward his car tenatively. He could still back out if he wanted to and Till would be none the wiser. Remembering the flower between his fingers, he turned back to Till's grave and closed the distance. He stared at the marker blankly, setting the flower down.

                 "Hello Till," he said quietly. "I've come to visit you."

                 He looked around then, curious to see if anyone else was around. He could have surely used the company. To his disappointment, there wasn't. He was alone.

                  Then it all hit him.

                  " _You fucking left me!_ " Richard shouted, flinging his half smoked cigarette to the ground. "You didn't tell me shit," he yelled, tears hot on his cheeks. He sank to his knees, grass staining his pants as he slid down. "I had to watch you die Till, why would you...?" His tone was panicked and he began speaking faster, letting his feelings finally spill out.

                  "I would have never done that to you, I care about you too much! Why would you refuse medication? I found your paperwork by the way. Thrilled to find out you were hiding that one from me. Ecstatic beyond belief. I love you and I fucking miss you and you're... not... coming back... to me," he choked out. "Oh god," he moaned, hunching over to wipe his tears. "Please come back," he howled.

                  "I hate being alone," he said in between sobs. "You know that." He looked up at the stone, hoping for some sort of answer but it never came. "You meant the world to me ...you still do. Till, I'm so fucking miserable, I'd give anything to have you back." His body was trembling and he felt incredibly small. He was acutely aware of his own mortality and it scared him immensely. Being surrounded by death chilled him in a way he never knew.

                  "Why did you leave me?" Richard asked the grave. 

**Author's Note:**

> here's a birthday gift of sadness a day early. (it had to be sad. it just gotta.)


End file.
